


The Silver Arrow

by captaindanger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, F/F, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaindanger/pseuds/captaindanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Lois Lane/Clark Kent, Green Arrow sorta AU. </p>
<p>Allison is Beacon Hills' resident vigilante and hasn't told anyone, but when Lydia Martin gets involved in a dangerous situation, she finds herself getting reckless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silver Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta [Babs](http://punkcorahale.tumblr.com/) and my artist for the Allydia Reverse Bang, [geniusgingerprincess!](http://geniusgingerprincess.tumblr.com/) Her art is awesome, check it out!

Allison walked out of the elevator, adjusting her glasses and hiking her bag higher on her shoulder. She was immediately hit with the familiar noises of the newsroom: quick chatter, typing, heels clicking on marble. Reporters were milling around, perching on each other’s desks to converse or power-walking between offices. 

Scanning the open space, Allison quickly found what she was looking for: a head of glossy red curls bent over a computer. Lydia Martin was the first person to greet Allison the day she began working at the Beacon Hills Brief, and from that moment on she had developed a slight crush (okay, maybe more than slight. She had developed a whopping crush) on the beautiful woman. It didn’t help that their desks were directly facing each other and she had to watch Lydia do arbitrary things every day like put on her lipstick and sip from her Starbucks cup, which only endeared her to Allison more.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her blouse, Allison strolled over to the coffeemaker to pour herself a cup before facing the object of her affections. As she set the mug down and settled into her office chair, Lydia greeted her with a wry smile, “Argent.”

“Oh, hi, Lydia,” she said nonchalantly. “How was your night?”

“My night? Consisted of a bottle of Merlot and a Bad Girls Club marathon. Nothing thrilling. You?”

Allison’s mind stumbled over the question. She could answer with the truth – that she’d been decked out in black-and-purple spandex last night, stalking the dark alleyways of the city, shooting arrows and scaring off criminals. She hadn’t told anyone about her nocturnal activities, but there was something about her fellow journalist that made her want to spill the beans. Unfortunately, Allison realized that telling anyone about her secret, alternate identity would be counterproductive, so instead she replied, “Dinner with my Dad.”

“Mm, exciting,” Lydia said sarcastically and dropped her head back down to her laptop. Allison giggled and pulled out her own laptop, opening it up and turning it on. She was working on an article about a sanctuary for dogs with special needs in the next town over; she seemed to get the majority of the human interest pieces in the office, which was fine with her. It was a refreshing change from the kind of things she saw at night.

A cardboard cup and a doughnut were slapped down on Lydia and Allison’s desks, respectively. “Ladies,” drawled Stiles, the deliverer of the breakfast goodies. He waggled his eyebrows at them. Lydia grabbed at her drink with desperation, taking a large gulp and sighing with happiness.

“You’re an angel, Stilinski,” she groaned. Even though he heard that every weekday morning, it still managed to make Stiles blush something fierce. Allison would have thought it was cute if a feeling of territoriality didn’t wash over her each time. She picked up her doughnut – chocolate glazed, her favorite – and took a big bite out of it. She had to agree, Stiles was an angel.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

“Don’t mention it. What are you two working on?” He bent over at the waist, propping his elbows on Lydia’s desk and peering at them with curiosity.

“Scott assigned me to write about Pup Preserve in Walnut Creek,” Allison answered.

“Is that the one with the deformed dogs?” Stiles made a face. “Depressing.”

Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder and simpered. “I got the Hale case.” Stiles mouth dropped open. The Hale case revolved around Peter Hale, co-founder and CEO of Hale Corporation, one of the largest and most successful businesses in Central California that hadn’t come out of Silicon Valley. Hale was known for being charismatic and efficient, but also ruthless and aggressive. He had been previously brought up on charges of racketeering by the state of California, although he had been acquitted by his powerful team of lawyers. He was now the primary suspect in the murder of his niece, Laura Hale.

Laura Hale was the youngest member on Hale Corp’s board of directors. She had taken over her mother’s chair when she passed away, and she excelled at her job. It was no secret that she was working to ferret out the corruption in the company – she had announced it as a priority the day she took her position. So when she disappeared, and then reappeared in a shallow grave in a remote part of the forest a few towns away, everyone’s immediate suspicion was on Peter. Hale obviously denied it, acting hurt and offended that he was being accused of committing such a terrible deed on one of his own family members who he was incredibly proud and fond of (all his own words in a press conference). No one believed him, of course, and the investigation and media attention was putting him under a microscope.

Stiles groaned, his head falling into his hands. “I can’t believe this. I wanted that case.”

“Of course you did. But there’s a reason I got it.” Lydia leaned back in her chair, looking pleased with herself.

“Lydia, humility is not your strong suit.”

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Stilinski. I’m sure you’ll get an interesting story, too.”

Stiles leaned his chin on his fist, looking petulant. “Well, I did get a story. It’s about that vigilante with the arrows.”

Allison’s whole body erupted in chills. This was exactly what she had been dreading.

“Oh, really?” Lydia looked mildly intrigued.

“You mean the girl going around in a jumpsuit stopping muggings?” Allison jumped in before she could stop herself. “Not much of a story, if you ask me.”

“I don’t know about that. There’s so much crime in Beacon Hills, we could do with a little rescuing. Who doesn’t love a hero?” Lydia said, shrugging her shoulders. Allison ducked her head and prayed neither of them saw her flush.

________________________

Allison perched on the top of an apartment building, surveying the area. The night was lit only by streetlamps. It was getting late, too late for her to be out and still make it home to get enough sleep to be remotely functional at work the next day. She couldn’t force herself to go home, though, afraid that leaving even an hour early could mean someone getting hurt. Almost nothing had happened that night, which was a good thing, except it made Allison question why she had even come out. 

Beacon Hills was a big city; she couldn’t patrol the whole thing at once. What she usually ended up doing was breaking it down into eight major quadrants that she would keep watch over for a night each. That night was Quadrant 4, which included the downtown shopping district and a big residential area. 

Her eyes were drooping and the grip on her bow was getting slack when she heard the sound of footsteps rounding the corner beneath her. She peered down from the roof, and immediately recognized the walker’s long red hair. What was Lydia doing out this late? she thought to herself. Perhaps she had gone out with some of the people from the office; Allison knew that a lot of the reporters liked to end the day at the bar across from where they worked, although she had never been invited. However, Lydia looked sober and alert – she even looked a little frightened.

A group of men suddenly appeared behind Lydia, just close enough to be threatening. They were rowdy, elbowing each other and making loud jokes. Allison felt the hairs all over her body stand on end. She stood up and began following them, Lydia and the pack of men.

Lydia looked tense, clutching her purse to her front but measuring her steps carefully to not seem scared. A knot of anger formed in Allison’s belly. The idea of anyone making Lydia feel like she was in danger made her see red. 

The men began to whistle and call out to Lydia. “Where you headed, beautiful?” “How ‘bout we show you a good time?” “Don’t ignore us!” Lydia began walking faster, and so did the men behind her.

As they approached an alley, one of the men darted to Lydia’s left flank and shoved her. Lydia fell into the dark space and the men followed. Allison gasped and notched an arrow. She peeked over the side of the roof and saw the six men gathered around Lydia in a semi-circle. One was tugging on her hair, one yanking on the sleeve of her blouse, one in her face whispering something to her. Lydia was struggling and swearing at them, her face red with anger and her eyes wide with terror. Her hand reached down into her purse and she almost pulled something out of it, but someone’s arm knocked the item out of her hand. That’s when Allison shot her arrow.

It thunked into a leg and the man it landed in screamed. Five heads whipped around, looking for the source of the projectile while blood poured out of their crony’s appendage. Allison let another arrow fly and it pinged off of the brick wall of the building behind them, creating a brief shower of sparks. “What the fuck?” one of them yelled. They still had Lydia trapped between them, so Allison dropped down from the roof using the fire escape.

Lydia’s attackers had drawn an assortment of weapons, brandishing them at Allison with their lips pulled back from their teeth in attempts at menacing snarls. Allison dispatched each of them coolly. A punch to the neck, a kick in the testes, a slam of a head into the side of a dumpster; they all went down easily. 

Allison stood over one of the assailants, appraising her bruised knuckles. She heard her labored breathing echoed in someone else’s lungs, and looked up to see Lydia still plastered to the wall, looking like a deer in headlights. She was quivering and panting, staring straight at Allison, who was grateful she’d thought to wear a hood that night (not that Lydia could see her well in the darkness anyway). 

Allison took a step toward Lydia, thinking of soothing her, but she just blanched and threw her hands out in front of her. “No, no, no, no, no. Do not come near me.”

“Okay.” Allison cleared her throat and deepened her voice a few octaves so Lydia wouldn’t recognize it. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“Am I?” Lydia asked breathlessly. That hurt Allison a little – the idea that Lydia could think she would ever hurt her, although to be fair Lydia didn’t know it was her in the first place. 

“Who the hell are you?” Lydia asked. 

“I’m…” Allison trailed off. She wanted so bad to tell Lydia, to tell anyone, that she and the Silver Arrow were one in the same, to let her secret be someone else’s too. But instead she said, “A concerned citizen.” Lydia laughed, a little on the hysterical side. She peeled herself off the wall, still keeping distance between her and the person she thought was a potentially dangerous stranger. She set about straightening her hair and clothes, tsking over the state of her mussed dress, then looked around.

“Um…” she whispered to herself, and Allison remembered the item flung from her hands. She glanced around, too, and spotted a shiny object a few yards from them, half in a greasy puddle. She picked it up, and was surprised by what it was: a Smith & Wesson revolver, .38 special with pink rubber grips. It was lightweight and cute, which Allison figured was important to Lydia. It would have been more useful if Lydia had better reflexes and if it was loaded, which it was not. She walked it over to Lydia, who grimaced. Not a gun lover, it seemed. She took the gun from Allison carefully like it was a time bomb and stuck it in her purse, out of sight. “Thanks,” Lydia said.

They stared at each other for a few beats until the sound of sirens cut through the moment. Allison shook herself and said, “Get home safe,” before setting off back into the night.

 

_______________________________________

Allison walked into the BHB offices the next day to see a group gathered around Lydia’s desk. They all looked fascinated, staring rapturously at her as she waved her hands around, mouth moving a mile a minute. There were people sitting on Allison’s desk, so she figured she’d grab a cup of coffee and turn in her story to Scott before she sat down.

She brought Scott a cup of coffee too, carrying them carefully with her laptop tucked under her arm. He looked up from some paperwork and smiled at her. Allison liked Scott a lot; as editors went, he was patient and amiable. She plopped the coffee on his desk and they discussed her story a bit before she e-mailed her final draft to him. “I’ll look over this,” he told her.

He reached over to take a sip of his coffee (sweet, like him) and asked Allison, “Did you hear what happened to Lydia?” The comment didn’t necessarily surprise Allison – she’d been mentally preparing herself for the question since she stepped out of the elevator – but she still didn’t know what to say. 

The thing about Allison was: she was not a great liar. She was okay, good enough to convince her father she was taking care of herself and staying out of trouble, but her voice still wavered and she felt her ears turn crimson whenever a fib stumbled its way out of her mouth. So when she asked, “No, what happened?” she tried her best to keep herself from grimacing and tugging on her sleeves in discomfort. Scott maybe looked at her a little funny, but didn’t mention it and told her about Lydia’s daring escape from the brink of death (a little over-dramatic, but it was Lydia they were talking about).

“And then the Silver Arrow just melted back into the night. Isn’t that nuts?” Scott shook his head in disbelief. 

“Yep, totally. Nuts.” Allison nodded vigorously. “Well, I should get back to work.”

“Oh, okay,” said Scott, taking a big gulp from his mug. “Me, too.”

While Scott buried his head back into his paperwork, Allison approached her desk. There were much less people listening to Lydia now, although Stiles was there, scribbling down notes on a spare sheet of printer paper. Allison put her laptop and her cup down on the desk, trying not to squish the abandoned donut Stiles had brought. The man in question looked up and asked her excitedly, “Did you hear what happened to Lydia?”

The rest of the day, people came round to hear Lydia tell the story, and she was happy to oblige. It was obvious she liked to be the center of attention, and this was the perfect opportunity. Allison tried not to listen, she really did, but it was difficult when you were hardly five feet away. She heard Lydia tell the tale at least 25 times and she thought by then she’d be tired of it, but she wasn’t.

What she loved most about it was the way Lydia described the Silver Arrow. Her eyes widened with wonder and her speech became breathless. She called the Silver Arrow ‘amazing’ and ‘her hero.’ A warm, happy feeling grew in Allison’s belly each time she heard her say the words.

Thankfully, Scott had assigned her a new story to think about, a girl with leukemia whose family was raising money so he could have her dying wish of going to Disneyland, and she was wrapped up in it all day. She called and interviewed the girl and her mother by phone. They were both very sweet and Allison found herself rooting for them to reach their goal. They made an appointment to meet up in a few days so they could take some pictures. 

 

______________________________________

She was not stalking Lydia. Admittedly, it was a little weird that she had found her address and was circling her apartment building. It was little weird and maybe invasive and she wouldn’t want other people to know she was doing it, but she told herself it was to protect Lydia. 

She could hear noises coming from the apartment window, which was cracked open (it had been open when she’d arrived). It was dark in there, and she thought Lydia must be cleaning or something equally mundane, ignoring the thought that Lydia was having sex (not that Allison would begrudge her that activity, it was obviously her right to sleep with whoever she pleased, but the idea that Lydia was with someone else gave Allison this disappointed feeling in the bottom of her stomach). After a while, the noises died down and Allison figured she must have gone to sleep. She was also on the verge of going to sleep, until she saw a light flicker on in Lydia’s apartment and heard a scream. 

Allison sprang into action, leaping to the next fire escape and crashing through the glass panes gracefully. She stood up and immediately ducked again as two shots fired off, one into the wall and another out the now-broken window.

“You!” Lydia shrieked. Allison looked up at Lydia, pointing a gun at her, and was shocked at the sight before her: the living room looked like it had gone through a blender, ceramic shards sparkling on the floor, couch cushions ripped open and vomiting fluff, dripping graffiti on the walls that said ‘BITCH’ and ‘CUNT’ and other equally misogynistic things. “Did you do this?” Lydia demanded.

Allison shook her head. “Would you like to lower the gun now?” she asked in her deeper ‘Silver Arrow’ voice, which was muffled by the bandana tied around her mouth and nose. Lydia pointed the gun at the floor instead of Allison but didn’t put it down.

“This is unbelievable,” Lydia mumbled. Allison noticed she was in her work clothes, with her purse still on her shoulder. 

“Have you not been here this whole time?” she asked.

“What? No. I just got home.” Allison tugged awkwardly on the strap of her quiver. Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Were you watching my house?” She sounded put-out but not particularly angry. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Allison said in a small voice. She swore Lydia’s face softened a fraction.

“Well, I can’t say you did a very good job,” she said, throwing her arms out to indicate the ruined room. Lydia let her arms fall and then cocked her head to the side. “Would you like some tea?”

Allison was so thrown by the question that she didn’t bother answering at first. Lydia set her bag and gun down on the counter of her tiny kitchen and grabbed her tea kettle off one of the stove burners. “Um…” Allison mumbled as Lydia filled it up under the sink.

“It’s chamomile. I’m hoping it will calm me down a bit.” Allison noticed the way her arms were shaking.

“I think you should call the police,” Allison said in attempt at authority. Lydia shrugged. 

“I will in a second. It’s not like whoever did this is here anymore.” She scrunched up her nose. “Hopefully.” While Lydia boiled water, Allison took the initiative to look through the other rooms (which was only two) to make sure whoever smashed through Lydia’s apartment really wasn’t there anymore. Satisfied that they were gone, she walked back into the living room/kitchen. “So?” Lydia asked, holding up two cups. 

“I’m going to have to say no.” 

Lydia’s face fell. “Oh, okay.”

Allison walked to the shattered window. “Sorry about this,” she said, gesturing to it.

“Don’t worry, I have insurance.” Allison nodded and ducked out onto the fire escape. “Good night!” Lydia called to her as she leapt to the next to building. She’d stay and watch until the police arrived, out of sight.

 

__________________________________________

Allison dragged her feet into work the next morning to see an argument going down in front of Scott’s office. “You cannot take me off of this story!” yelled Lydia, in their boss’s face.

“Can’t I?” Scott yelled back. “That’s the second time in two days that Hale has threatened you. This isn’t safe.”

“Good journalism isn’t about being safe! Besides, how do we even know that it’s Hale doing this? It could be anyone!”

“Are there a lot of people who would send a group of men to attack you and trash your apartment?” Stiles asked. He was acting as peacemaker, Allison guessed. “It’s not like she’ll get hurt anyway. She has a guardian angel.” Allison waved as she passed them on the way to her desk, suppressing a smile. Lydia’s guardian angel. She liked it.

 

_______________________________________

That night after work, she went straight home and slept a solid twelve hours. It was the best night sleep she’d ever had, she reckoned, although it wasn’t something she wanted to get used to. Allison was the type that could thrive on three to four hours. Enjoyed it, even. Her brain didn’t feel clear if she got more than six. But she needed to recharge.

That day at work, Lydia was moping. She shuffled papers around at her desk and sat blank-faced in front of her laptop. When Stiles came over to bring them their morning treats and said, “Wow, you two look wrecked,” she just glared at him until he left.

“Are you okay, Lydia?” Allison eventually asked. Lydia looked at her, startled out of whatever reverie she had lost herself in, and scratched the back of her head.

“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” she responded with heat in her voice. Allison just shrugged, too drained to be argumentative. Lydia sighed. “Sorry, I just… bad night, I guess. The police are still all over my building, my apartment is still in shambles, I still have a garbage bag taped over my window…” Allison winced. Her fault. Lydia scrunched up her nose, then said “…and you know how that vigilante person has been following me around? I didn’t see them last night.”

“Oh.” Allison felt a strange sensation prickle over her skin, like a mixture of guilt and happiness. Lydia noticed the Silver Arrow had been missing last night. “They were probably just busy fighting crime somewhere else.”

Lydia frowned. Allison felt the words bubbling up on her lips, an apology for not being there, but saying them out loud would be absurd. Thankfully, Lydia’s phone rang and whoever was on the line had her full attention. She was distracted for the rest of the day.

Allison was, too; she had pitched an idea to Scott of a story about the baby that had been found in a dumpster in Pleasanton that was up for adoption. She was on the phone all day, talking with Child Protective Services and the woman who had found the baby. She wrote furiously and managed to get the story halfway done. When she next looked up from her laptop screen, it must have been past eight o’clock. 

Allison sighed. She crossed her arms on her desk and laid her head on them. She was pretty sure she was the last person left on the floor until Lydia sank into her chair with a cup of coffee still in her hand. “Lydia? What are you still doing here?”

“Same as you. Working.” Lydia took a sip and then set the mug down. She looked focused on whatever she was writing.

Allison smiled. “Don’t want to go home just yet?”

Lydia looked sheepish. “You caught me. I can’t stand to go back there. It feels… different.”

“Like your space has been violated?” Allison asked, understanding.

Lydia looked surprised. “Yeah, actually. Has your house ever been broken into before?”

“Kind of,” Allison said. “When I was younger, someone tried to rob my family’s house and stabbed my mother. She bled out before the police got there.”

Lydia opened and closed her mouth like a fish at the heavy confession. “I’m…” she began. “I’m really- I’m sorry, Allison.” She thought that must have been the first time Lydia called her by her first name. “I didn’t know.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It happened a long time ago. But I know how you feel. If you need to talk to someone, I could be that someone.”

“Thank you,” Lydia said, softly and sincerely. Allison felt pleased with herself. They both settled into silence for a while, fingers clacking on keys. Finally, Allison worked up the courage to speak again.

“How’s the story going?” Allison asked politely. 

“Good. I’ve been on the phone with the lead detective of the homicide division, trying to get him to give me Derek Hale’s number. Apparently he hasn’t gone in and given them an interview yet. I heard that Peter and he don’t have a good relationship, so I’m betting he’d be willing to spill the beans on whether Peter really did kill his sister, family loyalties aside.”

“No luck on getting his number?”

“Nope,” Lydia exhaled.

Allison nodded. Lydia looked over at her and asked, “What are you writing?” 

“Oh, nothing. Just a story about the baby in Pleasanton.”

“Oh, yeah. How far along are you?”

“Halfway, but I’m not sure about it.”

“Would you like a second opinion?” Allison hesitated, but nodded. She prepared herself to send it to Lydia in an e-mail, but instead she walked over to Allison’s desk and shooed her over. Bending down to look at Allison’s screen, she gave her a nice view down her shirt. At first, Allison tried not to look, thinking it was an accident. Then she saw Lydia’s eyes flicker over to her, and saw curiosity in them. The sides of her mouth quirked up, and she asked Allison, “See something you like?”

In any other situation, Allison would have backed off, but she’d wanted Lydia for so long that she just nodded. Lydia snaked her hand into Allison’s hair and gave it a tug. Allison whimpered. Lydia placed her lips on Allison’s oh-so-gently, dancing away whenever Allison tried to lean in to taste her. 

Finally, she leaned in and their lips met fully. Lydia tasted like heaven. Her mouth was sweet and wet. Their tongues slid along each other. Lydia tasted like coffee and a long day. Allison sucked Lydia’s bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled, relishing the moan it tore from her throat. 

They came up for air, both panting and staring into each other’s eyes. Lydia grinned mischievously and said, “Your story looks good so far.” She untangled her hand from Allison’s hair and walked back over to her own chair. 

Feelings warred inside Allison, disappointment that the kiss had ended so soon and elation that it had happened in the first place. Mostly, she wanted to go grab Lydia out of her chair and smash their lips together again.

She managed to stay for five more minutes, thinking about the kiss instead of writing. She gave up and grabbed her purse out of the bottom desk drawer, standing up to leave. She made to turn around to the elevator, then turned back to Lydia. “Hey…” she trailed off. Gathering her courage, she asked, “Do you want to go out for drinks some time?”

Lydia’s left eyebrow arched up. “Feeling brave today, Argent?” she said, which would have cowed Allison if she hadn’t been smirking when she said it. “Sure. Tomorrow night, I pick you up, we go to Murphy’s.” All Allison could do was nod (a little too eagerly) and do her best not to skip on her way home.

 

_________________________________

And that’s how Allison found herself outside the house of the lead detective of the Peter Hale murder case an hour before Lydia was to pick her up for their date. His name was Allen Stuebing, and he’d worked at Beacon Hills Police Department as a detective for ten years and in San Francisco as a uniformed officer for twenty. From what Allison heard, he was good at his job but not personable, which was why Lydia couldn’t work her charms on him.

Allison was in her Silver Arrow outfit, black-and-purple catsuit clinging to her body. She looked through her bow’s scope. The Stuebings were congregating in the living room of the house, talking and playing board games in front of the television. It was a nice house, two stories of brick with beautiful landscaping. There was probably an alarm system or at the very least security camera’s around the outside. 

Allison had never broken into a house before. She was sternly against it even, after what had happened to her family. So she decided the best way to go about getting Derek Hale’s number was to make sure none of the Stuebing family ever knew she’d been there.

It was easy to send an arrow into the transformer that ran electricity into the house. The lights downstairs shut off, and Allison heard stunned shrieks. She ran to the closest window and tugged on the bottom but it was locked. She tried two more, until she found one that she could open. Slipping fluidly through, she found herself inside a clean, decently-sized bathroom. 

Opening the door, she slithered into the hallway. She could hear the voice of a man on the phone saying, “Yes, it all just went out. No, I don’t know why! This house is brand-new, it’s not a problem with the wiring.” Allison tuned him out and started going room to room, looking for Stuebing’s office. 

She managed to find a closet and nearly walked into the kitchen where a woman was lighting a candle before she darted upstairs. She stood on the landing, pondering if she should just cut her losses and leave, when a tiny voice asked, “Who are you?”

Turning around slowly, Allison saw a kid no more than six standing in the doorway of their bedroom (judging by the Power Rangers bedspread behind them), looking uneasy. 

“I’m…” Allison decided to go with honesty. “I’m Ally. What’s your name?”

“Connor,” the child said. “Why are you in my granddad’s house?”

“Well… I’m here to check the power. It’s out if you hadn’t noticed.” The kid nodded solemnly, looking around at the darkness. 

Someone downstairs called, “Connor?” 

“Coming!” He yelled back and started toward the stairs. 

“Wait,” Allison said. He turned back around, with a wary look on his face. “Where’s your granddad’s study?” The boy looked confused. “You know, his office? Where he does his work? I have to go in there to turn the lights back on.” Connor pointed to a door a little ways down the hall, then turned and clunked down the steps.

Allison knew it wouldn’t be long before Connor told one of the adults about the strange lady upstairs, so she strode into Stuebing’s office and crossed over to his desk. It was disorganized, covered in post-it notes and half-finished paperwork. She threw them around, looking for names – she spotted Hale a few times but never behind a Derek. She could hear footsteps at the bottom of the stairs and her heart sped up.

Allison shoved the desk in frustration and a cell phone clattered to the floor. She picked it up; it was off. She prayed it would work faster as she turned it on. The voices from downstairs were getting closer. When the screensaver popped up, Allison pulled up the contacts and, miracle of miracles, Derek Hale’s phone number was under the D’s. She grabbed a pen and wrote it on a post-it note that had been abandoned in the trash and then yanked open the window. She jumped out as the footsteps were approaching the office door, thanking God and her parents for her gymnastics training. 

It was easy to slip into Lydia’s apartment again; all she had to do was pull down the garbage bag taped over the hole where the window used to be. It sounded like Lydia was in the shower. Allison stuck the sticky note down on the empty counter where it would be easy to see. Before leaving, she drew a heart with an arrow through it on the bottom, right-hand corner of the square. That should tell Lydia who had delivered the info.

She had barely enough time to get home and slap on make-up and a skirt before Lydia was ringing her doorbell. Grabbing her clutch purse and smoothing down her hair, she opened the door with a cheerful, “Ready!”

 

____________________________________________

Their first date went as smooth as a first date can go. They took a taxi to Murphy’s, which was about five minutes away from Allison’s apartment. She had never been there before, and was pleasantly surprised. She had expected a smelly dive, but it was much classier and less grimy. It was decked out in shiny wood and decorated Americana style. “The food here is amazing,” Lydia gushed. “You’re gonna love it.”

Lydia ordered a Long Island Ice Tea and Allison ordered a Jack and Cherry Coke. They sat at a table and talked for a bit while they waited for their food (Lydia had insisted on their sliders and thick-cut fries).

“What made you want to be a journalist?” Allison asked as she took a sip of her drink. 

“I actually didn’t want to be a journalist, if you can believe it. I originally wanted to study mathematics. I got accepted into MIT and everything. But my parents couldn’t afford it, so I went to a community college instead. I was just going to get my general AA. Then I took an Intro to Journalism class for the credits and fell in love.”

“That’s really great, Lydia.”

“Not that I wouldn’t drop this job in a second if I had the money for tuition at MIT.” Allison laughed. “No, really. I’ve wanted to win a Fields medal since I was in elementary school.”

“Well, you’re definitely smart enough,” she told her, and Lydia’s face reddened.

“What about you?” Lydia asked. “How did you get into journalism?”

“I guess I sort of fell into it. I never really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. My teachers told me I was a good writer all through school, so I took a class in college, like you, and decided to major in it. I’m happy I did, I love this job.” She beamed into her glass. “And I met you.” Lydia blushed even harder that time.

Their food arrived and Allison agreed with Lydia wholeheartedly: the food was amazing. Whatever spices they used on their fries made Allison scarf down half the basket in one go. They exclaimed over the juicy mini-burgers while they ordered a second round of drinks. 

“So, how long have you had your eye on me?” Lydia asked with a sly grin. Her eyes were bright and unfocused from the alcohol. 

Allison felt shy admitting it. “Since the first day on the job, when you walked right up to me and shook my hand.” Allison rubbed her sweaty palms on her skirt. “You have an impressive grip. My dad always says that that’s a good quality in a person. It means confidence.”

Lydia twirled her hair around her index finger. “Your dad sounds like a smart guy.” Eyes cast downward, Lydia continued, “I’ll be honest, I never really considered you as a, uh, romantic partner. Not that I don’t like you,” she continued hurriedly. “You’re gorgeous and smart and… you know. It’s just that I don’t know a lot about you.” That was fair; Allison didn’t socialize a lot at work. Lydia and she had some nice conversations but it was usually about current events, nothing too deep or personal. It frustrated her that her reluctance to make friends resulted in missed connections or opportunities, but social anxiety wasn’t something you could just cast off or ignore. She had gotten some control over it in the few years she’d been working at the Beacon Hills Brief, and had managed to make friends like Stiles and Scott and Lydia.

“However,” said Lydia. “I’m really glad you asked me out. I’m having a lot of fun.” Allison felt like she was glowing. I Touch Myself by Divinyls began to play on the jukebox in the corner, and it felt ironic given who Allison was sitting across from. “I love this song!” Lydia enthused. “We should dance.”

Allison gabbled for a second (she had two left feet) before Lydia pulled her up out of the chair and into the open space that served as a dance floor. Lydia wrapped Allison’s arms around her waist and slung her arms round Allison’s neck. 

Allison’s body lit up like a Christmas tree. Holding Lydia this close was something she’d only dreamed of. Lydia’s breasts were pressed up under Allison’s, her knee knocking between Allison’s legs. She swallowed thickly. Warmth was gathering at the pit of Allison’s stomach. Lydia looked up at her with hazy eyes. She leaned in and brushed her nose against Allison’s pulse, then leaned in closer to nip at her neck. Allison dug her nails into Lydia’s hips, and she inhaled sharply. “Maybe we should leave,” said Lydia, out of breath.

They spent the taxi ride to Lydia’s apartment attached at the mouth, breathing each other’s air in desperation. Lydia crept her hand up Allison’s skirt, rubbing circles along her inner thigh that made Allison squirm. Allison sucked bruises up and down Lydia’s neck until she was whining with need. 

They barely made it up the stairs before Allison crashed Lydia into her front door. Lydia covered her mouth to stifle a moan as Allison nibbled at her exposed cleavage. Allison was so absorbed in her task of exploring Lydia that the hand pushing her away made her jump.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, was I going too fast?” asked Allison nervously. Sex on the first date was not usually her thing (not that she judged people whose thing it was) and she was scared that she was going to do something wrong or make Lydia uncomfortable. 

“No, it’s not that. You’re doing great,” Lydia chuckled. “I just thought that before we do this, you should know I’m kind of, ah, emotionally invested in someone else.”

Allison’s heart sank. “Oh…” she said. 

“Yeah. I didn’t want us to do,” she gestured between them, “this without you knowing.

Allison stepped back. “I get it.” She rubbed the back of her neck, disappointment throbbing in her throat. 

Lydia looked concerned. “We’re… all good? I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings or anything.”

“No, no, really, I get it.” Allison shuffled in place awkwardly. Silence wavered between them.

“You can- you can still come in if you want,” Lydia stuttered, hands twisting around each other. 

“Um, I think I should probably just go home. Long night.”

“Oh.” Allison leaned in and gave Lydia a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Argent.”

“Night, Lydia.”

 

_____________________________________________

The next day was Saturday, which meant Allison could spend the whole day sulking in bed. She watched Law & Order: SVU reruns and ate powdered donuts out of a bag. She let herself lay there, coated in white powder.

She couldn’t blame Lydia. In fact, it would have been worse if Lydia hadn’t told her about this other person in the first place and Allison had convinced herself that they would be together. Still, her heart hurt and she drowned the pain in sugar.

She couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to this person that Lydia was infatuated with. Was it Stiles? Allison had heard that Stilinski had had a crush on Lydia since they started working together. Lydia had even confronted him about it, told him she wasn’t interested but she still wanted to be friends. Maybe she’d changed her mind.

Or it could be Scott; they had a friendly relationship, obviously felt affection for the other and in Scott’s case, protectiveness. But Scott was dating a girl named Kira, and Lydia didn’t seem like the type to pine after someone unavailable.

Or it could be someone Allison had never met before. That bothered her the most, that it was someone she’d never met before, someone she couldn’t compare herself to. Which only brought Allison to the realization that she thought Lydia was out of her league.

And maybe she was! Lydia was hyper intelligent, witty, and a knockout. Allison sometimes felt inadequate around her. She knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to others, that someone would always be better at something than you. It wasn’t like that with Lydia though; it was like she was trying to judge whether she was good enough for the woman. If she wanted anything, it was for Lydia to have someone who deserved her. Who could make her happy, who could appreciate her and love her (love? When did love enter into the equation?) the way she needed to be loved. And she knew she couldn’t do any of those things if she sat around lamenting about what could have been.

As soon as the sky turned dark, she dressed in her Silver Arrow costume and snuck out the window. In the beginning of her escapades as the bow-wielding vigilante, she had worn an all-black hoodie-and-jeans combo. But the extra fabric had gotten in the way, and she’d ended up buying a jumpsuit off Ebay and altering it to her needs. She felt silly oftentimes but it made her movement more fluid and it fit the persona.

That night, she intended to patrol Quadrant 6, which consisted of the elementary school and the poorer section of the Beacon Hills residences. She intended to go straight there, but found herself making a beeline for the home of a certain redhead. Just to check on her. Not to yearn from afar or anything silly like that.

The lights were on in Lydia’s apartment. Someone must have come to fix her window, because the panes of glass had been replaced and the garbage bag was gone. She sat at her faux-wood countertop on a dilapidated barstool that looked like she’d found it on the side of the road. Her phone was to her ear and she waved her free hand around while she spoke. She looked frustrated.

Allison noticed a car parked across from the building that she hadn’t seen before, a nondescript beige compact car. It wouldn’t have caught her attention if there wasn’t someone sitting inside, eating KFC and holding up binoculars. Allison didn’t doubt that this was one of Hale’s henchman, although she would have thought he’d hire someone better at staking out.

She turned back to Lydia’s window to see her slam the phone down on the counter and cross her arms. She was breathing heavily. Getting up, she paced around the apartment, glancing out the window now and then. She even tugged the window open and poked her head about. 

Eventually, she stomped out of her apartment, which was strange because all she’d brought with her was her keys. She exited the building and stood outside, doing nothing. She crossed her arms over her chest, shivering slightly from the cold night air. She was wearing a thin blue blouse with tan shorts, not sensible dress for that kind of temperature.

Allison waited with Lydia. It didn’t seem like she was waiting for a cab, because her head didn’t perk up whenever cars passed. She kept looking up at the surrounding roofs (Allison had to duck behind the parapet to keep from being seen) and shaking her head when she saw nothing. Was Lydia looking for her – for the Silver Arrow?

The opening of a car door drew Allison’s attention. The man watching Lydia’s building unfolded himself from the car seat; he was at least six feet and broad. He was wearing a trench coat that fell past his knees, and as he walked across the street he reached inside of it. 

Allison acted quickly, swinging down from the roof of the building adjacent to Lydia’s. She landed behind her and notched an arrow. Her landing startled both Lydia and the menacing man. He took his hand out of his coat and threw his arms up. “Hey! Don’t shoot! I wasn’t going to do anything!”

Allison brought her arrow back farther, tightening the string. “Okay! Okay!” he yelped, stumbling backwards. Allison let him run back to his car and speed away. She would have laughed if she hadn’t turned and seen the look on Lydia’s face.

Lydia’s breath was coming fast, color high in her cheeks and eyes dilated. “Where have you been?” she uttered, sounding petulant. Allison had no response, standing there feeling like an idiot. Lydia stepped closer. Her lips were red and bitten. “I know it was you who gave me Derek Hale’s number. Why? Why would you break into a law enforcement officer’s house for me?” Once again, Allison was speechless.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, I wake up wondering what you do while the sun is shining, who you are and if you’re thinking about me, too. And then at night, I wait for you to come to me, and when you aren’t there I wonder if I did something wrong. I drive myself crazy about you.” Lydia dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m not the kind of girl who does this, who falls in love with someone who had the decency to save her life and doesn’t want anything to do with them after that. I don’t care for a one-sided relationship. But I don’t think that’s what this is. I think – and tell me if I’m wrong – that you want me just as much as I want you.”

Lydia took another step closer until their bodies were pressed tight to each other. Allison couldn’t breathe. Lydia leaned in close to her face and whispered, “Kiss me.”

She didn’t give Allison much of a choice, tugging down her mask and crushing their faces together. It hurt in the best way, teeth smacking together and pulling on lips, Lydia’s nails scraping her scalp. Being around Lydia made Allison feel lightheaded, but kissing her made her lose her sense of gravity completely, like she could float off into the sky. 

Lydia’s hands tugged desperately at her hood, and Allison woke from her daze. Pushing Lydia away, she hastily pulled the cloth back up over her mouth and nose. She cursed herself for getting carried away but it didn’t seem like Lydia had seen her face, eyes squeezed shut in the moment.

Lydia stood looking shocked and hurt. “I…” she murmured. 

“Sorry, sorry. I can’t- I have to go.” Allison turned and ran, not letting herself breathe until she reached her bedroom.

 

_______________________________________

Allison thought it was best if she spent some time apart from Lydia. Things were getting messy and confusing, or more messy and confusing than they were in the first place. She spent Sunday cleaning her apartment and doing maintenance on her bow. Both always served to clear her head. The smell of bleach and the sticky slide of string wax were a balm on her fuzzy brain.

The next morning she was out of the office, driving the hour it took from Beacon Hills to San Francisco in Stiles’ jeep. She had scheduled pictures with the little girl who wanted to go to Disneyland for that day, and things went off without a hitch. She had big brown eyes and a little button nose that she scrunched up when she laughed. She told Allison how much she loved Belle and Ariel and that she’d never been on a rollercoaster before. The pictures they took were of the little girl holding her teddy bear and of her doing a cartwheel in front of her house. Her throat tightened up with tears when she left. 

On the drive back, her phone lit up, caller ID: Lydia Martin. Lydia’s picture smiled at her, posing with her hand on her hip. Allison’s hand hovered over the screen, unsure, but then swiped to answer it. “Hello?” Her voice shook a little. They hadn’t spoken (or Lydia hadn’t spoken to Allison) since their date.

“Argent!” Lydia sounded urgent, loud and clipped. “I need you. How soon can you meet me in front of the Brief?” 

Caught off guard, Allison managed to stutter, “I can be there in twenty.”

She sped up, going twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. When she pulled up in front of Lydia, the woman threw open the passenger door and dictated an address to her. 

“What’s going on?” asked Allison.

“I managed to get in contact with Hale’s nephew, Derek. He’s going to meet with me. I needed someone to come along with me to make sure he wasn’t trying to get me alone so he could take me out into the woods and execute me. I called Stilinski first, but he said you were borrowing his jeep.”

Allison nodded in understanding. They drove on, Allison’s hands clenching and unclenching on the wheel. A quiet fell over them both when they realized who they were in the car with and the events of two nights before.

The space between them felt charged. Allison’s skin felt warm on the side closest to Lydia, and she prayed she wasn’t blushing. Lydia shifted restlessly in her seat, fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt and the chain of her necklace. 

Lydia cleared her throat after five agonizing minutes. “Stilinski wanted me to remind you that his birthday party is Thursday. He said no gifts, but I’m sure he’s lying.”

“Oh, sure, yeah. I remember.” Allison scalp itched. Throwing open the car door and tumbling in front of a moving car felt like a good choice right then. Anything besides sitting in an enclosed space with the woman of her dreams who desired her alter ego and not her. 

Looking back over at Lydia, her eyes flashed with an unreadable emotion. “Have a good weekend?” she asked, hands folded in her lap. Allison stifled a groan, the feel of phantom hands running through her hair and the remembered taste of Lydia making her mouth water. She nodded.

The address that Lydia gave her took them to a gated community. It was massive and shimmered with prosperity, marbled pillars holding up terracotta roofs. Allison pulled the window down, Lydia taking out her license for the guard, but when they heard her name they waved her through. 

The Hale house was three stories, stone covered in a blanket of ivy. The driveway was long and looked new. Out front, a woman waited, dressed all in black. She stared at the car as it approached the front door, looking bored. It was hot, but she wore a leather jacket. 

When they exited the car, she waved them over. “Which one of you is Lydia Martin?” she asked. Lydia raised her hand. The woman turned and began walking inside. They followed. “I’m Cora. Derek’s sister. He told me you were coming.”

They entered into a huge, beautiful kitchen/dining room combination. A man sat hunched over at the waxed, walnut table, looking hungover. He had a cup of black coffee in front of him. Turning as they walked in, he scowled. Cora pointed at Lydia. “This is her,” she informed him.

“Who are you?” he grumbled at Allison. She didn’t answer him, only crossed her arms over her chest. Lydia sat a few chairs away from her and Allison moved to stand behind her. “I see you brought your bodyguard,” he told Lydia, looking unimpressed. Lydia sat up straighter and pulled out a notebook and pen.

“We should get started.” She clicked the pen. “Why did you agree to speak to me?” she asked, leaning forward. 

He sighed. “To get you to stop calling.” He took a sip of his coffee, and Allison noticed the dark circles under his eyes. 

“That’s not the only reason,” insisted Lydia. “You’ve been adamant about not talking to the press, until now. What changed?” 

Derek’s hands tightened around his cup. Cora stepped forward. “We need to talk to somebody.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“We can’t trust the police,” Derek chimed in. “We don’t know which of them are in Peter’s pocket. This is the safest route.” He shook his head. “Besides, with his lawyers? He’ll probably get off anyway. We didn’t speak out against him last time he was investigated because he’s family. This is different.”

“Peter killed our sister,” growled Cora. “We want everyone to know.”

Lydia shrugged. “So convince me.”

“We can do better than that. We can show you.”

Twenty minutes later, they were standing in front of a crumbling mansion in the heart of the Beacon Hills forest. It was built from rotten, termite-eaten wood and half the building looked scorched. The windows were boarded up but the door was missing. “An unconventional place for an interview,” Lydia griped. 

The two Hale siblings strolled inside like they did it all the time. Lydia and Allison stepped inside after them, nervously looking around. The house was empty, but patches of floor where furniture must have stood above it peered through the coat of dirt. It was dim and it smelled like earth and something putrid. 

The Hales were farther in, standing over a stain on the floor. It was dark and looked sticky. Drag marks through the dirt led from it and into a hallway. Lydia’s face transformed from apprehensive to astonished. “Is that…?”

“This is where Laura died,” said Derek darkly. He turned to face them. “This is where Peter killed her.”

Lydia’s face closed down, getting ahold of her feelings. “Tell me what happened.”

Derek leaned up against the wall and told them Laura’s story: She was the oldest of the three, beautiful and business-minded. It was always her gal to become a part of Hale Corp, intending to work her way through the ranks like any other employee, but when their mother died she chose to take her seat on the board. Laura never trusted Peter, especially after he was acquitted under questionable circumstances. When she saw how deep he had his claws in the family business, using the power to his advantages, she set about eradicating unsavory criminal ties. She confronted him, told him the way he involved the business in illegal practices wouldn’t fly with her. She told him if he didn’t shape up, she would have him voted off the board and even fired. 

Of course, Peter thought she wanted the coveted position of CEO, and it was no secret that he was paranoid and bloodthirsty. He called Laura on the day of the murder, asking her to meet him at the former Hale abode so that they could talk things over. Laura was one to believe in the best in people and, although Peter had done terrible things, he was still her uncle. She informed no one of her whereabouts, but Derek knew there were few places that Peter knew well enough and that were sufficiently deserted that he could use as a place to kill someone.

According to the medical examiner, Laura’s throat had been slashed from behind. Derek speculated that Laura had arrived to a presumably empty house, calling for Peter, when he snuck up behind her and killed her. 

He finished his story, body shaking with rage. He unclenched his fists and little half-moons of blood welled up on his palms. Letting out a shaky breath, he said to Lydia, “Please. He killed my sister. If I can’t kill him myself, than this is the next best thing. What Peter values more than anything else is his position in our company. I want to ruin him.”

Lydia nodded, taking out her phone and snapping pictures of the blood stains on the floor. Allison felt dirty, contaminated, in the presence of Laura Hale’s last lifeblood. It was unspeakable; blood killing blood, uncle killing niece, letting someone bleed out on the floor of the house they grew up in. She was going to need a shower or three to rinse off that feeling.

As Lydia was scribbling furiously in her notebook and clarifying details with Derek, a car door slammed outside. All four of their heads perked up. Allison carefully walked to a window to look between the wood planks and Cora pushed of the wall she’d been leaning on to stand next to her. Blinking at the sudden brightness, she gasped as four SUVs came into view, blocking in Stiles’ jeep. Big men looking purposeful stood in a circle, mouths moving rapidly. A few of them held guns. 

“Time to leave,” whispered Cora to her brother. He seemed to trust her judgment, letting her grab his arm and lead him. 

“Where are you going?” Lydia asked, the burst of activity alarming her. “Are you taking us with you?”

“You’re on your own!” called Cora as they disappeared into the heart of the house. 

Lydia turned to Allison, confusion plain on her face. Allison could sense her fear, smell it. Her mind switched into fight mode, ushering Lydia into a corner, pushing her down into a crouch. “A group of men are here. Peter probably sent them to follow us. Most likely, they intend to kill you.” Lydia’s eyes widened even more than Allison thought possible and a cry leaked past her lips. “You’re going to stay here, alright?” A gunshot and then another peeled off in the distance. Allison checked outside again; two of the men were missing. “Stay. Here. I mean it, Lydia.”

“Should I call the police? What do I do?” Lydia asked, arms wrapping around her knees.

“You won’t get a signal out here.”

“What- what are you going to do? Should I help?”

“Just sit tight, Lydia. I’m going to take care of this.”

Allison snuck outside using the back door, walking soft so the leaves underfoot didn’t crunch. Using trees as cover, she came around the side of the house. Five men were outside, guns drawn. One of them held a walkie-talkie and spoke into it intently.  
She drew up her skirt, running her fingers over the knife strapped to her thigh. It was one she carried around even on normal days when she wasn’t in the boondocks being hunted by the lackeys of a murderer. Fortunately, after her mother died, her father had drilled survival instincts into her, including the necessity of always having a weapon on you. She slid it out of its holster.

Darting from the trees, she made her way to the side of an SUV without being seen until one of the men came around the car and spotted her. Before he could alert his friends, she drove the handle of the knife into the side of his head and, while he was stunned, brought his head smashing into the car window. Which set off an alarm.

Another guy came around the car, looking for the cause of the commotion and drew his gun when he saw her. She ducked as he fired off a round and drove her knife into his armpit. He released the gun, screaming in pain, and she picked it up before pistol-whipping him with it. 

She no longer had the element of surprise. The three remaining men had drawn their weapons and shot out the car windows, (mostly) missing Allison and forcing her down into a crouch. She could feel the sting of broken glass falling down her shirt and blood dribbled down her back from where a bullet had grazed her neck. 

Allison wasn’t scared. This was all muscle memory for her, the feeling of her finger wrapped around a trigger as familiar as her father’s whoop of pride when she’d hit a target. Even though she was better with a bow, her eyes were keen and her hands were steady. Two shots she put into the chest of one man, one into another’s neck. The last man tried to run, the gun falling from his hands as he went, and she shot out one of his knee caps.

All of them would live (probably). Allison had never killed anyone and didn’t intend to now. She gathered all of their guns, throwing them into the back of the shot-out SUV, dusting her hands off and feeling accomplished.

An ear-splitting scream shook the walls of the house. “Lydia?” yelled Allison, running toward the sound with the stolen gun in her hands. She stopped short inside the door; a man she must have missed had an arm around Lydia’s neck, leading her out. He held a gun in his hand and when he spotted Allison, he pressed the muzzle to Lydia’s temple.

“Don’t fucking move,” he rumbled. Lydia’s hand scrabbled at his arm, face contorted in fury. She tried jerking out of his grip but he just pressed the gun to her head harder.

Fear spiked through Allison’s blood. She tried to find a place to shoot him where there was no possibility of hurting Lydia. He was completely blocked by her body, no vulnerable place to put a bullet. She kept the gun trained on him, wondering if she could talk him down. “Please, I-“

Lydia slammed her elbow into his solar plexus and Allison heard a crack. He doubled over, releasing her long enough for her to punch him in the nose and twist the gun out of his hand. Allison watched it all in awe, long enough for Lydia to fume, “Can we leave now?”

___________________________________________

Allison walked into the house that Stiles shared with his father. Music blared from speakers around the house and partygoers, mostly their colleagues from the newspaper, danced and drank. Allison tugged at the hem of her dress. It was striped white and blue – her mother had told her she looked best in blue. She craned her neck, looking around for Lydia. 

They had both been so busy over the past few days that they hadn’t had time to sit down and talk. When they had left the old Hale mansion, they’d drove the jeep until they could get a signal and called the authorities. The police had brought them in along with Cora and Derek, who had managed to escape through some secret passageway. After they had been let go, Peter had been brought in for questioning and subsequently arrested for murder. Lydia’s article had been rushed to publication the next day, and she’d been swept up in a storm of media attention since then. 

“Argent!” someone called to her. Scott stood with his arm around a woman, both holding cups of liquor. Scott introduced his girlfriend Kira and the three of them talked about the crazy chain of events in the past few days. People came by to speak with Allison, to touch her on the shoulder and ask her if she was okay. It all still felt surreal. 

Someone brought her a beer and she sat down on the Stilinskis’ couch to drink it. Her neck was stiff with the bandage stuck across it and her skin still ached. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she let the alcohol slide down her throat and uncoil her muscles. Someone sat down next to her and she prepared to ask them for some alone time before she saw it was Lydia.

She grinned from ear to ear, her hair like fire cascading down her shoulders. Allison straightened up, moving over to give her room. “Lydia!” She practically sang the word. 

Lydia looked effortlessly beautiful in a body-hugging dress and simple make-up. Allison admired that about her – she looked so put together, even when her life was turning upside-down. Allison’s spotlight wasn’t nearly as big as hers, but she still felt like her hair was frizzy and her eyeliner was off-kilter. 

“Hello, Argent.” Lydia wrapped a strand of Allison’s hair around her finger. “You look pretty.” Even though Lydia and she had been growing closer, she still felt flustered whenever Lydia was within a foot of her. She couldn’t help her eyes from dropping to Lydia’s lips, then the push of cleavage above the low-cut of her dress. A silver necklace hung from her neck - a necklace with an arrow pendant. Lydia leaned in. “Can we go somewhere more private?” 

Allison nodded and they headed off together, Lydia’s hand in hers. The room she chose looked like a guest room, bed made up and all surfaces meticulous. As Lydia shut the door behind them, Allison scratched at her arms, a nervous tic. Lydia leaned back against the wood, sizing Allison up. “I thought a little quiet would be nice. We need to talk.” 

Allison sat down on the edge of the bedspread and Lydia joined her. They both clasped their hands together and shifted around awkwardly. “I wanted to… to thank you, Allison. For everything. And not just for coming with me to the Hale house. For understanding what I told you that night outside my apartment, too. You’re a great person, Allison.” First name basis again. Allison couldn’t ignore how her name on Lydia’s lips stoked the heat between her legs. 

Lydia bumped her shoulder against Allison’s playfully. “I would thank you for saving my life, but I think I had that covered.”

“I meant to ask you about that,” said Allison. “Do you have some secret ninja skills I don’t know about?” 

“I started taking self-defense classes after those men attacked me walking home. I’ve only been to one so far, but as you can see, it’s paying off. I’m no damsel in distress.” She looked over at Allison with a sly look in her eyes. “Not that you would know, with how you treat me.”

Allison’s brow furrowed and she turned her head to look Lydia full in the face. “What?”

“I know you’re the Silver Arrow.” 

Allison stood up, whipping around so her back was with the door. She stared at Lydia with wide eyes. “I- what- you- how did you know?”

“God, Allison. I’d hoped you thought more of me.” Lydia stood up too, arms swinging casually by her side. She enjoyed making Allison squirm. “How exhausted you look coming into work every morning, the blisters on your fingers, and the way you took those men down? That took precision. Practice.” She cocked her head to the side, a predatory smile on her face. She licked her lips. “And you both wear the same lip gloss.” Leaning in she whispered, “Watermelon?”

Allison’s face broke into a blush. Lydia’s hot breath on her lips sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine, but when she stepped closer, she pushed Lydia back. Lydia sighed, looking resigned. “I think I get the message.”

“Wait, no, wait. Lydia.” Allison moved her back until she was sitting on the bed again. Lydia looked up at her questioningly. “I think before we move forward again, we should talk. Are you, like, angry with me? And maybe we should discuss the fact that you had feelings for my made-up superhero personality and not me.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Listen. I’m not angry with you…” She put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, I’m a little angry with you, if only because you kept such an amazing secret from me. And I do have feelings for you, Allison,” said Lydia, her voice tender. “I have for a while. None that I would have acted on individually, but there nonetheless. I was just,” she shrugged, one eyebrow up in self-deprecation, “caught up in the moment. No one’s ever saved my life before. I think I fell a little for the Silver Arrow, even though I lied and said I hadn’t. But I realize now that what I really wanted was a combination of the two of you. And now I have it. Plus,” she looked up at Allison through her lashes, “I can’t say I don’t find the rescuing thing sexy.”

Allison perched on the edge of the bed. Her stomach was full of happy fireworks, like she had swallowed an entire packet of Pop Rocks in one go. She looked into Lydia’s eyes, half to ask silent permission and half so she could stare into their depths. She didn’t need Lydia’s permission, because she caught Allison’s mouth before she could lean in and clutched at Allison’s dress hungrily. She lost herself in Lydia’s mouth. No one tasted like Lydia did. It made her sigh into Lydia’s mouth, capture Lydia’s tongue between her teeth. Lydia whined raggedly.

The door flew open, Stiles standing in the doorway as the smell of alcohol crashed into the room. “Scott told me you two were up here,” Stiles shouted, arms open in welcome, sloshing his drink about. “So glad to see you both! Sorry I didn’t say hi when you got here, I’ve been so busy! Congrats on the story, Lydia. Wonder if it will get you a Pulitzer. Can you imagine?” He stopped rambling when he noticed them gaping at him, looking disheveled. 

“Am I… interrupting something?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face.

“Stiles, I swear to god.”

“You two together? I would never have thought…”

“Get _out_ , Stilinski!” spit Lydia, a venomous look in her eye.

“Got to go! Safe sex is great sex, ladies!” He cackled as he slammed the door shut. 

When he was gone, they started where they had left off, undressing and giggling into each other’s mouths.

The next morning Allison was awoken by the sun filtering through the paper-thin curtains. Her chin was still sticky and her thighs were sore, but Lydia’s solid warmth was against her chest, her face slack with sleep and a little drool stain on the pillow by her mouth. Allison looked down, gently smoothing her red hair back, thinking she could get used to the sight of Lydia in bed next to her.


End file.
